To Be a Winchester
by MoonGoddessShadow
Summary: It had started so simply: "If you're gonna be apart of this family, you're gonna have to start acting like a Winchester." Now he wasn't so sure... Dean teaches Castiel a few lessons in the fine art of being a Winchester. No slash, unless you squint.
1. Handgun Assembly

A/N: Yes, I know, yet another distraction from the bigger fics I should be writing. I'm working, really, I am. These little plot bunnies keep jumping out at me, though, and man, are they relentless. On the upside, I now know how to assemble a Beretta 9mm thanks to this fic. Yay?

* * *

It had all started out so simply.

"If you're gonna be apart of this family, you're gonna have to start acting like a Winchester."

After all, Castiel had been traveling with them for a while now; he was as close to being family as Ellen or Jo, and almost as close as Bobby. It just seemed fit that he learn a few of the tricks and skills that your run-of-the-mill hunter had. He was basically human at this point anyway, or at least as close as a rebelling angel could be without falling. A little unconventional know-how could save his life, or theirs, one day.

Now, though, it wasn't looking quite as easy as he'd originally thought.

Castiel cautiously eyed the parts spread across the bed, as if they might spring up at any moment and attack him. Standing next to him and borderline exhausted from the few hours he'd put in teaching the angel, Dean patted his back in the most reassuring way he could muster at this point.

"Come on, man, just do it like I showed you," Dean said. "It's not that hard, once you get the hang of it." Cas looked to the man, an eyebrow raised.

"What if I don't want to get the hang of it?" was his rebuttal, sounding for all the world like a mouthy kid. He turned his attention back to the parts and pieces covering the slightly greasy looking bedspread. "It's a skill that angels have no use for." Dean rolled his eyes at the excuse he'd heard a million times in the past few hours and nudged the guy forward.

"Just quit stalling and do it, Cas." The angel cast a quick, hopeful glance to Sam, who shrugged over his laptop and went back to searching for a new hunt. With great hesitation, he picked up the spring and guide, pushing them together. Dean nodded patiently, watching Cas' every move just in case he managed to screw up this relatively easy task.

As he tentatively picked up the barrel and slide, the angel muttered, "I still don't see the point in any of this."

God, it was like dealing with a kid. A really passive-aggressive one. Frankly, Dean was getting tired of it. He'd spent the last three hours dealing with these quiet comments, all while he was trying to teach the guy a skill that could save all of their lives. After all, a gun without a barrel wasn't a whole lot of good in any situation, unless you were lucky enough to be in hitting range.

For a brief moment, Dean wondered if this is what Dad dealt with when they were kids, but he quickly brushed that aside; it was too weird to think about that right now.

"I get it, you're an angel, you don't need our little human weapons," Dean quipped, carrying on before Cas could retort. "But as long as you're cut off from the cloud patrol and you're hunting with us, you're gonna have to know some of this stuff. And I know, you work better with knives and swords, and that's great, but sometimes killing a werewolf is just easier from thirty feet. So quit bitching and be done with it."

A few seconds of silence permeated the room, only broken by Sam's intermittent typing; Cas wouldn't meet Dean's eyes, focused on the few pieces left with sudden attention. Well, at least he knew he'd gotten his point across. Cas pressed the spring into the combined barrel and slide, attaching all of that onto the frame; he paused momentarily as he felt the faint snap of them connecting properly. Despite his ongoing protestations, he pushed the clip in like an old hand; he looked it over for a moment, a hint of pride in his work gracing his features, and then looked to Dean.

"Is this satisfactory?" He proffered the weapon exactly how Dean had showed him, with the handle facing toward the Winchester. Taking the handgun, he looked it over, but there wasn't much to see–the guy did a spot-on job when he wasn't whining. He nodded, a slight smile on his face.

"Yeah, this is great." Looking up from the gun, Dean met Castiel's eyes. "See? Not so bad, once you just do it." The angel nodded so slightly that if Dean hadn't been looking directly at him, he wouldn't have noticed the movement at all.

"True," he acquiesced, and that was all the acknowledgment that Dean needed. He set the gun down on a dresser and all but collapsed onto a bed, exhaustion from teaching the angel catching up with him. The room fell into relative silence once again, only broken up by Sam's typing and the hum of the small fridge as it turned on. Dean lay quietly on the bed, one arm draped over closed eyes, while Cas remained standing in the same spot.

"Dean?" came the query a minute later; from under his arm, the elder Winchester peeked one eye open.

"Yeah?"

Castiel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes wandering around the room as he said, "Are we done with this instruction?" His eyes met Dean's only after he'd finished speaking; the elder Winchester raised an eyebrow.

"Why? You got somewhere better to be?"

"No, I just -" Dean held up a hand before the guy could wander off into some excuse.

"Whatever, man. If you're staying here, I might as well teach you something else about being one of us." He patted around the bed for a moment, blindly searching for the remote. When he realized it wasn't in arms' reach, he cursed quietly and sat up, quickly retrieving it from the night stand. He motioned for Cas to sit on the other bed as the television buzzed to life; the angel took a seat on the end, sitting up stiffly. Dean watched this for a minute, but decided against trying to get the guy to relax and redirected his attention to the tv.

"Now, Cas," he began, only the barest hints of a smile donning his features, "you're about to learn the fine art of channel surfing."


	2. Hard Liquor

A/N: I've come to realize that whenever I write any character drinking, it's whiskey, especially when I'm writing Dean. It's either something he does on the show that I've picked up without realizing it, or my own affinity for whiskey coming through. Oh well. Enjoy!

* * *

"It doesn't smell appealing at all," Castiel said, holding his glass under his nose as he all but cringed. Dean chuckled, tossing back his own shot before replying.

"You aren't supposed to smell it, man. Just drink it."

While the hunter poured himself another, the angel continued to eye the small glass with distrust. It looked innocent enough, but in his few experiences with alcohol, almost all of which had been directly caused by Dean Winchester, he had come to know that it wasn't something for the unprepared. It made his thoughts fuzzy, he couldn't control the volume of his words and everything seemed funnier, despite most likely not being any more amusing. While he couldn't say that he'd enjoyed the experience at first, he'd gotten used to it, at least with beer.

He was just barely accustomed to the drink as it was; only in recent weeks had he even lost his complete disinterest in it. Dean said it was his growing humanity, although he still couldn't discern a biological necessity for the inebriating drink. He could admit that he saw the appeal of losing one's inhibitions for a while, with all the simultaneous distractions and dilemmas that human emotions created. Not feeling all of that at once was a relief, even if that was completely foreign to him on more levels than most men would ever comprehend.

Beer, he could live with. It didn't alter his senses too much.

Liquor, though, was a whole new level, at least as Dean had explained it; Castiel wasn't quite sure he was ready for it.

The hunter caught sight his apprehension and smirked.

"Dude, quit psyching yourself out and drink it. I promise it'll get easier after the first one," he said, doing his best to sound reassuring. Castiel glanced to his friend, who put back another shot of whatever liquor he'd purchased–whiskey, if he remembered correctly–and nodded for the angel to do the same. Warily, he raised the small glass to his lips and sipped; instantly, his mouth was burning. He coughed and sputtered, placing the glass back on the table as his eyes began to water. Across from him, Dean just chuckled.

"How long have you been watching me drink, man?" the hunter asked, but Cas didn't respond, still trying to rid himself of the burning sensation in his mouth even as a warmth slowly spread down his throat. "You don't sip a shot, you throw it back all at once. You are beyond amateur at this. Here, try again." He leaned over and topped off the shot glass, nudging it toward his friend after he did so. Cas didn't immediately take it, suddenly rethinking all of this. Why did he need to drink liquor? Beer served him fine; did it really matter if Dean said liquor was better at getting the desired effect?

Dean saw his renewed hesitation and raised his eyebrows.

"Drink it, Cas. I told you, it gets better after the first one, as long as you don't sip it like a little girl." There was no reasoning in the elder Winchester's voice now; it was all but a command. Castiel frowned, but took the glass anyway. Dean nodded and said, "Good, now just drink all of it at once. Don't even taste it until it's all gone." To demonstrate, the hunter drank his entire shot in one quick motion, slamming the empty glass down with vindication. His eyes met Castiel's once again, eyebrows raised. "Your turn."

Though he had a slew of reservations telling him this was a bad idea, Castiel mimicked Dean, not pausing to taste the alcohol until his glass was empty. Only then did the strange taste flare up in his mouth, but this round wasn't quite as bad as the first; he even managed to not sputter or cough. The warmth spread down his throat and into his entire chest, a bizarre sensation he had never quite experienced, but didn't wholly dislike.

Dean kept a close eye on him the entire time, smiling as the angel handled his second round way better.

"That's more like it," he said, leaning across the table to refill the shot glass. Castiel looked to the other man, astounded by the idea of taking another drink so soon, but was met with nothing.

"Dean, I -"

"Dude, shut up and drink," the Winchester said, cutting him off. "You may not want to admit it, but you like it." The angel met his eyes, attempting to stare the hunter down like he used to, but he was matched by the green eyes; they seemed to dare him to argue, and he eventually faltered. It must have been the effect of the alcohol, because he was usually much better at these impromptu staring competitions with Dean, though the Winchester would no doubt say it was his growing humanity. Castiel himself really couldn't choose one option over the other, as both were fairly alien to him.

Dean had a point, though, hard as it was to admit: he did like the alcohol, much more so than he ever imagined he would. That could probably be blamed on his humanity, too. After all, angels had no use for the mind-altering effects of liquor, but humans routinely used it for myriad reasons. Castiel knew Dean drank in an effort to relieve stress and, occasionally, forget the terrors that haunted his short life.

Did he then drink for the same reasons? In the entirety of his existence, he had seen more horrors that few men could ever boast, and yet had felt no emotion toward any of those happenings until he'd met Dean. Now, he could look back on the tragedies of the past with apathy, and yet still feel so dismayed by a single loss in battle. This onslaught of unbidden emotions was just another burden on his shoulders, one he didn't need when he was fighting the legions of Hell, trying to avert the End of Days and searching desperately for a father that was most likely dead.

Suddenly weighed down by these thoughts, he drank his shot quickly, quietly accepting the whiskey's burn and warmth. Maybe he had other reasons for drinking, but right now his motivation was the same as Dean's: leave behind the burden, if only for a while.

Across the small table, Dean grinned at him.

"That's more like it," he said, refilling the angel's glass. "'Bout time you saddled up." Not in the mood to question his strange idiom, Castiel instead raised his small glass.

"I believe the phrase is 'cheers,'" the angel stated, only meeting Dean's eyes for a second to reaffirm his words. The hunter nodded and clinked his glass with his friend's, a small smile on his lips.

"Cheers."


	3. Diner Food

A/N: Okay, this chapter was originally supposed to be about pie, but it took a different direction sometime around the fourth paragraph. Pie is still coming up, but I think it'll be easier with this chapter out there. And, really, what education in Winchester-ism would be complete without diner food?

* * *

It had been a long time since a hunt had gone this well. Really, saying the hunt had been successful was like saying that Led Zeppelin was just a decent band. They had flat-out kicked ass, from the research to pumping the shtriga full of iron. All the kids were out of their comas and home safe with their families once again; Sam, Dean and Castiel hadn't even been injured. It was nice to know that even in the midst of the Apocalypse, something could go right.

While their usual course of action would have been to celebrate with drinks at the local dive bar, Dean had been extra vocal about how they had to miss dinner to finish the hunt. Sam and Cas had agreed, and a quick drive around town revealed a mom and pop diner that was still open.

Inside, the waitress, who was barely over thirty and still rocking it, brought them three menus and black coffee, not that they needed it after the excitement of a great hunt. The Winchesters flipped through the small menus, but they already knew what they wanted; Castiel, on the other hand, was completely out of his depth. He'd only recently begun eating regularly, and in these recent forays into eating, the food had always been provided by one of the Winchesters. He'd never had a choice in what he ate, and never questioned it.

Now, all on his own, there were too many choices. Hamburgers, salads, pork chops, mozzarella sticks... He had no idea what to do or where to begin.

Dean must have noticed his blank look, because he raised an eyebrow and a small smile appeared on his lips.

"You doing alright, man? You look like you've never looked at a menu before."

Still looking at the innumerable options, Castiel replied, "I haven't."

Dean blanched, the idea obviously unfathomable to someone who had grown up ordering off a menu. "Not once, ever? You've been on Earth for, what? Two years now? And you've never actually ordered food?"

"When I was still connected to the Host, I could maintain my body's needs through will alone," he answered flatly, unwilling to delve any further into the subject at the moment. His disconnection from Heaven was something of a sore spot, and not anything he was willing to discuss when he was so uncomfortably hungry. "What did you bring to the motel last night?"

"The fish sandwiches?" Sam asked, trying to remember what he'd bought the night before while Dean and Cas had researched. While the angel nodded affirmatively, Dean wrinkled his nose.

"Those sucked," he griped. Castiel shrugged.

"They were passingly edible." The elder Winchester's eyebrows shot up at this, but Castiel didn't notice. He was now engrossed by all the different flavors of milk they could shake together.

"Passingly edible? Dude, that's seriously fucked up." When Cas finally looked at him, Dean just frowned disapprovingly. "Those things were one step above hot garbage, man. You need to broaden your food horizons if 'passingly edible' is all you're aiming for."

"They provided nutrition and sustenance," Castiel replied, not quite clear on where the man was going with this. Dean, though, just snorted in what was most likely derision.

"Nutrition and sustenance are all good and well when they're the only options, but you've got the entire menu. Food is like music–the good stuff really gets you going." Sam chuckled at the comparison, earning an offended look from his older brother. "What?"

"Nothing," Sam laughed. "You just almost sounded deep there for a minute."

"I can be deep," Dean snapped defensively; the younger man just smiled and nodded.

"Sure you can." The older hunter started to quip back, but Sam cut him off. "Just help Cas out."

Dean glared at his brother for a moment before looking back to his angel friend, who had resumed poring over the food options.

"Have you ever had anything that was more than 'passingly edible?'" Dean asked, peeking at Castiel's open menu. The angel's eyes hesitated, brow furrowing slightly as he thought.

"The hamburgers you bought last week were good," he replied. Dean nodded with approval.

"Good man. Burgers are always a good option. Here, they've got an entire section of them." He flipped the menu in Cas' hands to the next page, pointing to the top section. A flood of possibilities became apparent, only slightly narrowing the presented options. Dean, thankfully, didn't appear to be done. "Now, those burgers were decent, but if you really want something special, try a bacon cheeseburger. If they do it right here, it'll be the best thing you've had yet. Not that it could be hard to top that."

Almost on cue, the waitress appeared, a notepad in hand.

"You boys ready to order?" she asked perkily.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "I'll have a grilled chicken sandwich with a side of cole slaw." She scribbled his order down and turned to smile at Dean.

"And for you?"

"I'll have the pimento burger and fries," he grinned back, garnering a coy smile as she recorded his order. She looked to Castiel next, who only blinked back.

"What do you want, hun?" she said after a moment, smile not faltering. Dean nudged Cas, snapping him back to life.

"Ummmm... I'll have a bacon cheeseburger," he replied, emulating the brothers. "And fries." The waitress smiled despite his apparent awkwardness with ordering, took down his request, and tucked the pen behind her ear.

"I'll be back with those in a bit." She turned and headed toward the kitchen; when she was gone, Dean smiled at the angel.

"See, not too hard," he said, coming dangerously close to sounding like a parent encouraging his kid. Castiel nodded, nothing to say that wouldn't be redundant, and leaned back in the booth as Sam and Dean began to chat. They mostly talked about the next job, interspersing the conversation with brotherly banter and offhand remarks about other things, and easily whiled away the time until the waitress showed up with their food.

The burger in front of Castiel was nothing short of intimidating. Four thick strips of bacon poked out in each cardinal direction, while a bright golden piece of cheese half-melted over the fresh beef patty. Other things garnished the burger, but nothing was quite as intriguing as one simple fact, which he made known to Sam and Dean a moment later.

"This sandwich is far too big to eat. I can't get that all in my mouth."

"That's what she said," Dean snickered. Sam raised an unamused eyebrow.

"Really, Dean?" The older brother just gave his usual broad smile, and Sam shook his head. "You're fine, Cas. Just eat it." Again, Dean sniggered, though Cas was only vaguely aware why–he assumed it was some sort of sexual innuendo that was better left unexplained. He looked to both Winchesters, but they had already moved onto their own meals; Sam took a bite of his cole slaw, while Dean took a huge bite of his burger, pimento sauce dripping down one side of his mouth.

Finding no further support in his friends, he picked up the daunting burger and, warily, attempted to take a bite. Just like Sam said, it wasn't as difficult as he'd imagined, and a hundred times better tasting than the fish sandwiches they had eaten last night. A hundred new flavors he had never experienced filled his mouth as he continued to chew; the bacon crunched in his mouth, while the beef was softer once he got through the grilled outer layer. He took another hungry bite, drawing a grin from Dean.

"Good?" he asked simply, mouth half-full of his own burger. Cas nodded enthusiastically, chewing another bite with passion.

"It's delicious."

"Try the fries," Dean suggested, popping a few of his own into his mouth. Castiel did as he was told, eyes widening at the crisp saltiness.

"These are amazing," he espoused, eating more in between bites of his cheeseburger. "If they served food in Heaven, surely these would be there." At this, Dean chuckled.

"They probably would, man. And these aren't even the best fries I've had." If it was possible, the angel's eyes grew wider; Dean just smiled. "It's true. We'll see if we can make it there sometime." The implication of making it there after they'd averted the Apocalypse hung in the air, but no one mentioned that.

"I would like that," Castiel said instead, taking a quick drink of his water. Dean nodded and went back to his own food, leaving them all to eat quietly. The angel looked between his friends, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. It was difficult, rarely rewarding work, and the threat of the End of Days still loomed over their heads, but Cas realized now that these were the moments they were working toward, the quiet, happy moments that made rebellion worth it on so many levels. He may have lost one family, but he knew now that he had gained another in the Winchesters. For the first time since he'd come to Earth, he truly felt like he had a family he belonged with.

A feeling of contentment settled over the angel as he took another big bite of his cheeseburger. Being a Winchester was something he could accept.


	4. Gravedigging

A/N: And now I know how long it takes the average person to dig an average grave on their own (2 - 3 hours, FYI). I'm beginning to think this fic is my Winchester education, too... And yes, the ending may be sort of cheesy, but I like the mental image it gives me. So sue me (but really don't). Anyway, sorry for the delay and enjoy!

* * *

Unlike the other things Dean had deemed learning opportunities, this was unpleasant in every conceivable way. His arms ached as they never had before, sweat dripping down his brow; he had long ago discarded his trenchcoat to combat the heat.

This was an entirely new activity for him, and not one he particularly relished. He took only the barest comfort from the knowledge that very few human beings enjoyed this task, with or without the added implications. Even with the semi-positive connotations their reasoning had, to enjoy it would imply that there was something very wrong with his psyche. Or so Dean said.

The Winchester brothers worked silently with him, either ignoring their fatigue or completely unfazed by it. Either option wouldn't surprise him–they'd spent their entire lives being trained for this sort of thing. He, on the other hand, was trained for myriad things most humans could barely begin to imagine, but none of them came even close to digging a grave.

As he had been with them when the hunt arose, Dean and Sam had both encouraged him to come along, and with no new leads on the whereabouts of God, he agreed. Dean said it was a part of his Winchester education–hunting spirits was one of the first subjects when it came to actual hunting, apparently. In this case, it was a simple salt and burn for a pair of murdered young lovers seeking revenge for their deaths. The job had been relatively easy, especially in the scope of the whole Apocalypse. At least, it had been easy up until now.

Now, he was more tired than he had ever been. When he was connected to the Heavenly Host, he had been able to avoid that sort of human experience, but it seemed now that the limitations of a human body were catching up to him. He was exhausted and sore, and the handle of the shovel dug into his hands as he pushed up more dirt.

They had been digging for more than an hour now; according to Sam, two graves took longer than this with only two people. With a third set of hands, things were apparently running a little faster, which made him wonder how they endured such a repetitive, tiring task. They took turns digging, with one person in each grave and one person resting at a time. Even with short breaks, it wasn't getting any easier. Any time a set of headlights illuminated the cemetery, they ducked down; Castiel was fully aware of how illegal this was, and didn't argue when Dean ordered him to lay flat in the grass each time.

The dirt built up around him as he slowly worked lower into the ground. He had reached something Sam had called his 'second wind' several minutes ago, and while his arms and back still ached beyond reason, and the handle still bit into the palms of his hands, the work didn't seem as difficult anymore. He pushed the shovel into the dirt, suddenly jarred by a firm resistance. Sam, who had been leaning on his shovel, looked over, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Cas got his before you did, Dean," he laughed; Dean's head popped out of the nearby hole, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. This only made Sam laugh more, seeing his brother looking like a dumbfounded groundhog.

"Dude, there's no way," the elder Winchester shot back, somewhere between shocked and outraged. "He's never even done this before." Sam just shook his head and grinned.

"What do I do now?" the angel asked, ignoring their exchange. Dean just snorted and ducked back down into his hole, dirt flying up in quick bursts now; the taller man grinned at his brother and glanced back down to Cas.

"Open up the casket and then climb back up here." The angel nodded and spent a minute finding the release before lifting the lid open. A puff of stale air whooshed out at him, assaulting his sense of smell with the scent of a decaying body. Sam chuckled at his disgusted expression, but blinked when the angel was suddenly at his side.

"Should I apply the salt now?" Castiel asked, nodding to the cans scattered unceremoniously between the two graves. A clunk echoed behind them; Dean coughed, nose wrinkled as he pulled himself out of the fresh hole.

"Done," he gasped, obviously trying to rid himself of the unwanted coffin smell. He grabbed a can of salt and tossed the other to Sam, who caught it with ease. "Let's just get this over with." The younger Winchester passed the can to Castiel, who opened it up and began pouring it over the young woman's corpse. Under Sam's close eye, he emptied the can evenly over her and tossed it to the side.

Before he could ask for the matchbook, a sudden force threw him away from the grave. He was momentarily blinded by the force, but he could hear Sam and Dean shouting, followed by the crack of a gunshot. His vision seeped back as he tangled with the assailant, revealing it to be the spirit of the girl he had just salted. Dean had mentioned that this was to be expected, but that had somehow escaped him in the digging process.

He wrestled with the corporeal ghost, who was much stronger than one would expect such a young girl to be. Fortunately, his residual angelic strength was enough to combat her spectral power; he managed to push her off and stand himself up. Seeing Sam behind the girl, he ducked down and allowed the hunter to release a shell of rock salt. Cas was at his side as the girl wisped away, taking the matchbook Dean proffered.

"Just light it up and toss it in," the older hunter barked, shooting the male ghost away before lighting his own book. The angel followed orders, striking the matchsticks to life as the female tackled Sam. In his peripheral, he saw the young man's specter consumed by flames; he dropped his flickering matches into the grave in front of him. An echoing scream pierced the air as the second spook disappeared in a flash of red and orange fire. Sam instantly quit struggling, looking around cautiously as he stood up.

"Thanks, man," he said, smiling faintly at the angel. Castiel only nodded in response, weariness hitting him like the proverbial ton of bricks. Dean smiled like a proud parent, patting his friend on the back.

"See, not that bad," he said happily, breath only slightly ragged after fighting with the ghosts. The elder Winchester holstered his shotgun in his belt and turned to smile at his friend. "You did pretty good there, man. I knew you had it in you."

"Thank you," Cas replied with a small smile, trying to suppress the utter exhaustion overwhelming his body and failing stupendously. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he forced them to snap back open, only to see a grinning Sam and Dean. "I believe I need to sleep."

"No shit," Dean replied, blessedly uncouth as ever. He glanced around, eyes running over the still burning corpses and empty salt cans, and pursed his lips. "Just help us get the dirt back in the graves and we can go back to the motel." Castiel nodded in agreement as Sam pushed the coffin lids shut, eliminating the little light generated in their depths.

All three went about quickly refilling the holes, which was, to Cas' great pleasure, much easier than digging them. In a matter of minutes, they were back at the Impala, stashing their shovels and empty salt cans in the trunk before climbing tiredly into the car. As they barreled down the road, his thoughts drifted to his surrogate family and how much he enjoyed doing strange human things like this with them. Physically demanding and foreign as it was, he liked it.

Unbeknownst to the angel, he fell asleep in the Impala's backseat with a broad smile across his face.


	5. Pie

A/N: Here we go, the aforementioned pie chapter. I won't say I have the same reverence for it that Dean does, but it's pretty close. On a related note, I just had a piece of pineapple cream pie and it was delightful. Dean and a certain Shawn Spencer would definitely agree. As for the season and it's influence on pie availability, I'm going with late spring/early summer here.

* * *

Castiel leaned back in the booth, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips. Dean was similarly relaxed next to him, picking at his teeth absently. Plates littered the table in front of them, each one sparsely covered with the remnants of the finished meal. The angel took a drink of his Pepsi, savoring the strange sweetness as it contrasted with the residual bacon cheeseburger taste, while Dean watched his friend drink with a contented, if not absent, smile on his face.

Sam sat on the other side of the booth, watching the pair with a bemused grin.

"You guys want me to find a hunt in Vermont or Iowa?" the younger hunter asked, eyes darting between the other two playfully. Castiel's brow furrowed, trying to ascertain the meaning of Sam's offer; Dean just shot his brother a disdainful frown, fully understanding what his brother was implying.

"Dude, we are so not gay," he shot back defensively. The taller Winchester just raised a disputing eyebrow.

"Really? Because you look like a married couple already." Sam dodged the piece of a fry Dean threw at him, laughing freely.

"I can't help it if he takes after the better Winchester," Dean replied, shrugging as a more nonchalant mood settled over him. Before Sam could retort, Cas rested a hand on his stomach, face screwed up in thought.

"I believe," he began, considering his next words slowly, "that I'm still hungry." He looked to Dean, who was watching the angel like a parent watched a child struggling to form a new thought. "Is now an appropriate time for dessert?" At those words, Dean's face lit up; dessert was something he considered to be a specialty of his.

"Dude, it's always the right time for dessert," the older Winchester replied jovially, after-dinner sluggishness evaporating as he sat up straighter. "You've never had dessert, right? I mean, it's not like you guys have birthday parties up there or whatever." Dean paused a second, raising an eyebrow. "You don't, do you? 'Cause I gotta say, that would be pretty freaking bizarre."

Castiel looked at the hunter evenly, eyebrows raised slightly. "No, we don't. Angels don't have birthdays or parties."

"That sucks, man," Dean commented, pondering the idea of not having a birthday at all before realizing there was a more pressing matter at hand. "Alright, there is only one sane option for your first dessert ever: pie."

"Of course," Sam muttered, though he gave a good-natured smile.

"Pie," Cas repeated. "Fruit baked between layers of unleavened pastry bread."

"Man, don't ruin it with your weird angelic analysis," Dean quipped, looking halfway between confused and offended. "It's way more than just fruit and bread. Pie is sweet perfection wrapped in flaky golden awesomeness."

"Maybe I was wrong about you and Cas," Sam commented, a smile quirking the corners of his lips. When the two men looked at him confusedly, he added, "You should marry the pie instead." The elder Winchester just rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, Pee-Wee." He turned back to Castiel. "Pie is the best dessert ever conceived by human beings. If you guys ate upstairs, this is what you'd have every day."

"I see," Castiel nodded, eyes glued to the painted menu behind the counter. "It says they offer apple, cherry, strawberry-rhubarb, lemon meringue and pumpkin, but some are only seasonal and they may have others as well." He looked back to Dean, brow furrowed. "I suppose I should ask the waitress?"

The elder hunter smiled, secretly proud, and nodded. Taking his cue, Cas looked around and spotted their waitress, a pleasant forty-something woman. With a small smile and raised eyebrows, a trick he'd picked up from Dean, he drew her back over to their booth.

"You want the check, sweetheart?" she asked sunnily, holding her notepad up expectantly.

"Actually, I was wondering what kinds of pie were available right now," he asked, continuing the smile Dean claimed could charm any waitress. She smiled back at him, tucking the bill pad away in her apron.

"Well, we've always got apple and cherry, but no pumpkin right now. Sorry 'bout that." Dean shook his head, dismissing her unnecessary apology as she went on. "We just got in some blueberry and strawberry-rhubarb pies, those are always good. Now, if you're in the mood for something different, the lady we get our pies from sent us a few blueberry rhubarb pies and I've heard they're just divine." She glanced to Sam and Dean, who reciprocated her smile. "Anything strike your fancy, boys?"

"Nothing for me, thanks," Sam answered with a shake of his head. Dean, accustomed to his little brother's continuing health food choices, rolled his eyes subtly and turned to the woman.

"I'll have the blueberry rhubarb," he said, choosing the special with a grin; she nodded and looked to Cas.

"And you, hun?"

The angel thought for a second, then replied, "I'll have the apple pie." The waitress smiled back at him.

"I'll be back with those in a sec," she said, gathering their dirty plates. As she left, Dean smiled at his angel friend.

"Apple pie, great choice," he said. "Simple, all-American, total classic. Can't go wrong with apple pie."

"I hope so," Cas replied, leaning back in the booth. "Apples sound particularly appetizing right now. I'm not sure why."

"It's called a craving," Sam said. "Humans get them all the time. You'll get used to them." Before the angel had time to respond, the waitress was back, a plate in each hand.

"Blueberry rhubarb for you," she said, placing a plate in front of Dean, "and apple for you." She put the other slice on the table before Cas, wiping her hands off absently. "Anything else for you boys?"

"I think we're good," Dean replied, smiling up at her. "Thanks." She smiled back at him, dropping the check onto the table and leaving to wait on a new group. The elder hunter watched her walk away for a second before turning his attention back to Castiel. "Alright, dude, go for it."

Cas took his fork, glancing to Dean for only a second before cutting into his pie. He took a second to make sure it stayed on the utensil, then put it in his mouth with all due reverence. A moment passed as he chewed, eyes drifting shut as he focused solely on the dessert.

If he hadn't known better, Cas would have asserted that, at that moment, a choir of angels had descended upon the small diner. His senses certainly seemed to support that thought; the sweet, cinnamon-y flavor overwhelmed his mouth, a hint of tartness catching him as well. A contented smile spread to his lips as he chewed, the lightly sweet crust mixing wonderfully with the gooey apple slices. Dean was right to adore this pastry: it was as close to bliss as he had ever come.

"Told you it was good," Dean said, a broad grin lighting up his features. Distractedly, the angel nodded, not speaking until he had finished the first bite.

"It's superb," he replied, eyes drifting open. He purposefully cut another bite and ate it, chewing slowly. The older Winchester chuckled before digging into his own pie. The two ate in silence for a few minutes, reveling in the sensational pastry, while Sam watched with growing amusement. He had enough respect for his brother and the angel not to interrupt the semi-religious moment they seemed to be having.

Cas finished first, though not by much; he dropped his fork onto the table, eyes still shut as he leaned back. Dean did the same a minute later, sighing contentedly.

"That was great pie," the elder hunter murmured. Next to him, Castiel nodded.

"It was magnificent," he agreed.

"So have you picked a venue yet?" Sam asked, drawing a raised eyebrow from his brother.

"What?"

"What about a date? Have you sent out the invites?"

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean snapped, still not getting it.

"Are you registered somewhere? I heard Bed, Bath and Beyond is great. And why didn't you ask me to be your best man?" Sam pouted, suddenly pulling out years of skills. Finally, Dean realized what his little brother was getting at and frowned.

"Screw you."

"Save that for your partner on the honeymoon, Dean."

"Shut up, Sam," Cas cracked, not opening his eyes. Dean and Sam both looked to the angel, barely concealing how dumbfounded they were.

"Cas, did you just tell me to shut up?" Sam asked hesitantly, not quite sure that he hadn't just imagined that.

"Yes, I did. You're interrupting the lingering pleasure from the pie," he replied simply. At that response, Dean couldn't help but smile.

"He's learning."


	6. Clothes

A/N: Chronologically speaking, this is set post-season five, or post-series depending on if they continue after this year. Which I'd be much obliged if they did. Just sayin'. And unless another idea strikes me for this fic, it looks like the ninth or tenth chapter will be the last, depending on if two ideas merge into one chapter. I'm also well aware of the myriad reasons I shouldn't even begin to mention Cas' thighs, especially with Dean in the mix... My inner shipper!fangirl is going nuts with that thought.

* * *

A sleek black Impala of the 1967 persuasion cruised down the street, glistening under the bright summer sun; inside, three men scanned the passing storefronts with the precision of hawks. Or, to be more precise, two of the three men were hawk-eying the shops while the third looked out the window in a much more lackluster fashion.

"Dean, this isn't necessary," Castiel stated from the backseat. "I'm perfectly comfortable with what I already have." The hunter's eyes never left his side of the road, but he shook his head slightly.

"You need this, man," he replied simply, and continued looking. The angel had repeated the same sentiment in different ways for the last fifteen minutes, as if he could wear them down and put an end to this. He obviously didn't quite comprehend the level of persistence and stamina they'd learned from their father, not if he thought that tactic would even remotely work.

Besides, if Cas really wanted to leave, he would've just flown away when they told him what they were going out for. Part of him obviously wanted to be here, and not just the part that was friends with them, otherwise he would've just kept flying back to the motel room every time they tried dragging him out.

"Found one," Sam shouted. Dean instantly slowed down and leaned over to look out of his brother's window. "Right there, between the frozen yogurt place and the computer store."

"Awesome." The older Winchester pulled into a parking spot in front of the store and climbed out, giving the sluggish angel a glance. "Come on, don't act like a little girl. It's not that difficult." Cas gave him a dubious look, but followed the brothers into the store all the same. The bell over the door jingled as they entered, drawing a smile from the woman behind the counter.

"Hey guys, how're you doing today? Can I help you find anything?" she asked sunnily, setting down the book she was reading. Dean and Sam smiled back, with the former elbowing Cas when he just stared. The angel instantly pasted a friendly smile on his face.

"We're doing great. My friend here just needs some new clothes," Dean replied, nodding to Cas. "He's been wearing the same suit for ages."

"Two years," the angel corrected; the woman raised an astonished, if not doubtful, eyebrow.

"You've been wearing the same suit for two years?" she asked, receiving only a solemn nod as an answer. Her jaw dropped slightly, but she made no comment.

"Hence why he needs something new," Sam interjected with a playful smile, as if Castiel was just messing with her. She just nodded slowly.

"Right. Well, men's clothing is over there." She pointed to the left half of the store and picked up her book again. "I'm here if you need any help."

"Of course. Thanks," Sam said, smiling at her even as Dean pushed Cas along to the racks she'd pointed out. Hundreds of t-shirts in every color jumped out at them first; Dean immediately took up the job of sorting through them. Sam took a rack next to his brother, looking at the button-down shirts that he and Dean favored, while Cas stood reluctantly behind them.

"Really, this isn't necessary, guys," he repeated, and once again his words fell on deaf ears. The Winchesters continued rummaging through the racks, occasionally pulling out a shirt, and swiftly moving on to other racks full of jeans and coats.

"You're not getting out of this anymore," Dean said, not looking away from the grey military-style jacket he was inspecting. "Now that Lucifer's ass is grass, you don't have an excuse, especially if you're sticking around."

"Besides," Sam added, pulling another pair of worn blue jeans out, "that suit has the crap beaten out of it. You need something new." The angel opened his mouth to continue his protests, but Dean shot him a look that quickly shut him up.

They went on in relative silence after that, each Winchester loaded down with articles of clothing by the time they had sorted through all the racks and the long shelf of shoes. The pair beelined for the dressing rooms, dropping their piles of clothing onto the small bench and hanging a few select things on the plastic hooks.

Castiel hung back as they arranged a few things, watching with a wary eye until Dean turned to him.

"Go ahead, man. You don't have to try everything on, just a few things to see what you like and what stuff fits better." He ushered the angel in, closing the door behind him before stopping for a second. "And don't pull any of that 'I don't like any of it' crap. There's gotta be something in there you like, or you'll end up wearing whatever we buy you without complaining." With that light threat hanging in the air, he shut the dressing room door on the angel, who stood looking vaguely dejected amongst the piles of clothing as the door put him out of view.

The brothers hung just outside of the room, listening intently to make sure Cas was actually trying things on; they were reassured by the sounds of clothing rustling and zippers zipping for close to two minutes. Silence came for a quick second, and then Cas pushed the door open. He was wearing worn blue jeans, a dark blue button-down shirt over a grey Metallica t-shirt and a pair of laced-up work boots.

"This is... not as bad as I thought," Cas hesitantly stated, pulling on a sleeve absently. Like Dean, he had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; Sam attempted to mask a quiet chuckle at the sight, but his brother noticed.

"What?" Dean asked, turning to Sam with raised eyebrows. The younger Winchester just shrugged, still grinning.

"He looks like you, man."

"And? I look damn fine, thank you very much." Sam snorted but said nothing, while Dean looked back to Castiel. "You like it?"

"I believe so," the angel replied, looking down at himself. "The shirt is particularly comfortable." This put a large smile on the elder Winchester's face.

"The magic of cotton and Metallica," he said, almost marveling. "And the jeans and boots fit?" Cas pulled on the pants, stuffing his hands into his pockets experimentally.

"The boots are fine, but I'm not sure about the jeans. They don't feel right on my thighs." Sam nodded.

"Then try another pair on, but toss stuff you like over to us." The angel hesitated at the idea of trying more clothing on, but reentered the small room under the steadfast stares from the boys. They resumed their posts outside of the door while Cas undressed, the t-shirt and button-down flopping over the door. Sam grabbed these, starting a pile next to his feet.

A couple minutes later, he reemerged, dressed in similar clothes as the first time: a grey long-sleeved shirt, with two of the three buttons at the neckline undone to reveal an dark orange shirt layered underneath, along with a new pair of weathered jeans and the same boots. The crowning grace of this outfit, though, was the olive green military jacket, fitting him to a tee.

"It looks good, Cas," Sam said with an approving nod. "You really look like a human."

"I've always looked human," Cas countered, shooting a glance the taller man's way. Dean pursed his lips, eyebrows nearly meeting as he mentally debated the idea.

"Not really, man, not with that old suit and weird stare. You were more like the angelic lovechild of Klaatu and John Constantine." The angel raised his eyebrows, still not well-versed in Dean's references. "Klaatu was the alien in 'The Day the Earth Stood Still' and Constantine was a demon-hunting badass who always wore a suit and trench. Both played by Keanu Reeves, actually," Dean added as an afterthought. "Not sure if that's a good thing or not." Sam and Castiel considered his words for a moment before going back to the matter at hand.

"So you like these?" Sam asked, nodding back to the new clothes. The angel glanced down to what he was wearing, adjusting the jacket distractedly.

"Yes, I like these very much," he replied. "The jeans are comfortable, much more so than the last pair, and I really like the coat."

"Awesome," Dean said, glancing to his brother. They exchanged silent conversation, which Castiel understood to be a very different sort of telepathy than what he utilized with his own brethren. He could have listened in if he wanted to, but he had been told by Dean multiple times that reading someone else's thoughts was still an invasion of privacy whether God gave him the ability to or not.

"Alright, pass over all the stuff you like that fits, and we'll go pay for it," Sam said when he and Dean were done trading looks.

"And I can put my suit back on?" the angel asked hopefully.

"No," the brothers said at the same time, pushing Cas back into the dressing room. Clothes swung over the top of the door, Sam and Dean grabbing them as they appeared.

"That's everything," Castiel said after a minute. "Can I at least put my pants back on?"

"No," was the stereo annoyed response. The Winchesters headed to the cash register, leaving the nearly naked angel standing awkwardly in a strange, small room, unsure of what to do with himself. A couple minutes later, the boys thankfully returned, tossing a bag over the door.

"What's this?" Cas asked, inspecting the bag.

"Your new clothes," Dean replied. "Toss us over the suit and put those on. The rest will go in the trunk, and we'll burn the damn suit when we get out of town." The angel started to protest, but Dean's hand shot over the top of the door. "Give me the suit, Cas. It's time to move on." With a pout on his face that he was sure neither brother could see, the angel did as he was told. Dean's hand snatched the old clothing away as soon as he felt it, adding gruffly, "And no pouting."

"...I'm not pouting," Cas replied with as much conviction as he could muster while lying, and pulled the jeans from the bag on. Dean just grunted an 'uh-huh' and let him finish dressing in relative silence.

When he emerged, Sam had to stifle yet another laugh, which earned him a stern glance from his older brother. The clothes Dean had chosen for Castiel were about as quintessentially Dean Winchester as it could get: a nondescript pair of jeans, tan work boots and a dark blue plaid button-down left unbuttoned over a t-shirt that was such a dark shade of brown, it was almost black. In what obviously was an unconscious mimicry of his charge's style, the sleeves were yet again rolled up to the elbows. Even under his brother's continuing glare, Sam couldn't help but chuckle.

"What?" the angel asked this time, head tilted quizzically. "Is there something wrong with my outfit?" Dean just shook his head, giving his brother another disdainful look, and then smiled back at Castiel.

"He's just being an idiot," the older Winchester replied, patting his friend on the shoulder. "You look great."

"Yeah, great," Sam mirrored mirthfully, huge grin splitting his face as the trio picked up the other bags and headed out. "Absolutely classic." Over his shoulder, Dean arched an eyebrow at his little brother, but dropped it and looked back to Cas, who was watching the brotherly interaction with equal parts interest and bemusement, and just shook his head.

"He's just jealous of our stunning good looks," Dean explained, with a smile adorning his lips that told of someone who was simultaneously joshing their siblings and being charmingly serious. They loaded the shopping bags into the backseat, nestled in the slim space around the brothers' duffel bags and assorted possessions. After tossing the rumpled suit into the trunk, Cas eying it morosely, they slid into their customary positions within the car and got comfortable; as Dean checked his mirrors, he caught sight of his angel friend in the backseat, staring out the window into space, and smiled.

"You really look like one of us now," the hunter commented with amusement, and perhaps a bit of pride, as he turned the engine of his baby over.

Castiel, catching his friend's eyes in the rearview, smiled his barely-there smile and replied, "God help us all."


	7. Movies

A/N: Sorry about how long this has taken! I was having trouble figuring out how to go about this 'lesson,' but I think I finally found what works. This idea wasn't apart of my original eight, but it just sort of occurred to me when I was writing the last chapter. After all, Cas is going to have to start understanding the pop culture references Dean makes eventually. To that extent, I now present a classic among all awesome movies, as viewed by Dean Winchester and Castiel. For the record, this takes place sometime between "Dark Side of the Moon" and "Point of No Return."

* * *

"What'd you think, man?" Dean asked, glancing over his shoulder to gauge Castiel's response and patiently waiting for the DVD player to eject the disk. For all the advances in technology Sam went on and on about, they still couldn't hold a candle to the solid and reliable performances of the classic machines, at least in the elder Winchester's mind. Of course, when it came to sheer video quality, DVDs were light-years ahead of the old VHS cassettes he and Sam had watched as kids, not that he'd ever admit the small concession to his younger brother's face.

Besides, the motel's television was only accompanied by a DVD player, so he took what he could get, especially when the angel showed up on their temporary doorstep with popcorn and a bag of movies. Not just any movies, either. He brought nothing but pure classics: Indiana Jones, Star Wars, the first Rocky, Back to the Future, The Shining, and a handful of others. He knew they'd never make it through all of them in one night, but had heard that it was the thought that counted. They'd get around to watching all of them eventually, anyway. Sometimes a movie was the perfect respite from the constant effort to prevent the end of the world.

Dean wasn't sure how he'd known to pick those movies, whether it was from paying attention or an instinctual sense for good movies, but it put an instant smile on his face. Of course, Star Wars had been the natural first choice, being an absolute essential from his childhood and purely awesome movie.

"It was great," the angel responded. "Though it's the first movie I've ever seen, so I don't have a lot to base my opinion against." The hunter chuckled, setting the DVD case next to the stack of other movies.

"Believe me, there are some godawful movies out there. It's probably better to just keep you pure for now. We can ruin you later." The hunter paused a second, one eyebrow arching. "And that is something I never thought I would say." The angel smirked, catching the hint of innuendo and actually understanding it; to both Sam and Dean, this spoke volumes about how much he was beginning to emulate the older brother. While this development made the shorter Winchester grin, the younger man, glancing up from the novel he was reading on the other side of the room, snorted.

"Dude, if he got that, then you've probably already ruined him." Despite the fact that this was most definitely not a compliment, the elder Winchester's grin only widened, face beaming with something akin to cocksure pride.

"Must be doing something right, then." He turned back to the angel, who watched the short exchange with amusement. "So, favorite part?" Castiel, after realizing that he was being addressed again, took a moment to consider his answer.

"I thoroughly enjoyed the entire movie, but I'm particularly fond of the final run on the Death Star." Dean, from the kitchenette where he was putting another bag of popcorn into the microwave, glanced over his shoulder to the angel.

"When Luke uses the Force to hit the exhaust port instead of his computers?" he clarified, squinting at the microwave as he tried to remember what he'd done to get the last bag right. One thing he'd learned from a life on the road was that the damn things never could work in the exact same way. Always had to be different, like they were out to undercook your food and burn your popcorn every time you used a new one.

"Yes," Cas nodded, drawing Dean back from his inner diatribe on microwave mechanics. "It may be a foolish move, considering how little training and knowledge he had, but his faith in something beyond himself is admirable. Of course," he added, voice taking on a heavier tone, eyes dropping to the floor, "he had visible proof that his belief was real. Faith is easy when you know it isn't completely unfounded."

In the wake of his pained words, a dark, uncomfortable silence settled over the room, interrupted only by the increasingly frequent sound of popping popcorn. Dean studied the stained linoleum countertop intently, while Sam stared at his book without really reading the words. When the popcorn finished, the older Winchester pulled it out and moved back to the couch, dropping down next to the angel who gazed stoically upward.

"So the Force is a natural, omniscient presence within all beings," Castiel said, breaking the silence. Dean glanced over at the angel, who pulled a handful of the butter-heavy popcorn from the bag in Dean's arms even though his eyes remained glued to the ceiling. The hunter next to him nodded, glad the awkward moment was over.

"It's what binds the Universe together, it's apart of all living things, it connects everything, just like Obi Wan said," Dean replied, grabbing a handful of popcorn for himself. Cas munched his own popcorn thoughtfully for a few seconds, before looking at Dean with a wisp of a smile on his lips.

"I think I like that. It may be a work of fiction, but the idea that we all have a part of the cosmological power within us is intriguing. Of course, only a few can recognize and utilize this power, but Han Solo wasn't a Jedi, and he was still badass."

"Damn straight," Dean replied with a grin. "Luke may be the last Jedi, but Han's just a regular guy who still kicks ass and takes names. He was my hero when we were kids."

"He still is," Sam quipped over the top of his book, garnering a shrug and a smirk from his older brother.

"Until someone better comes along. And since the standard's already pretty damn high, don't think that'll be changing soon." He traded grins with Cas, who seemed to be scrutinizing him at the same time.

"You would fit Han's description very well yourself," he stated, looking the hunter up and down. "You drive an old vehicle that can still outperform everyone else. You're sarcastic and cocky, and quick to shoot if you have to. The law is always hunting for you, and trouble is wherever you go." Though he'd drawn the same conclusion time and again, it was good to have someone else echo the concept. With a playful grin, Cas added, "And that's forgetting that you travel extensively with a hairy beast that is much taller than you are." Surprised once again by the sudden humor from the angel, Dean broke into an unexpected grin, laughing loudly.

"Hey!" Sam shouted from his bed across the room, hurling a pillow at the angel, which was easily dodged. Cas only grinned broadly, tossing a buttery piece of popcorn at the taller man. Sam knocked it out of the air with practiced ease, but now he was smiling too.

"It must take you Wookiees a long time to shave your entire body," the angel commented, earning another round of laughter from Dean and another pillow to avoid for Cas himself. Even Sam was chuckling now, book forgotten. A friendly pat on the shoulder drew his attention back to the older Winchester, who was grinning like a maniac.

"Dude, leave Chewie alone," he chided with a complete lack of conviction. The smile really ruined it. "If you're really this entertaining with just one movie under your belt, we've got a lot more movies to get though." He stood up, inspecting the pile of DVDs. After a second, he turned to the angel, still smiling and now holding a case in each hand. "Now, Indiana Jones or Back to the Future?"


	8. Driving

A/N: Takes place after the vague Apocalypse-aversion mentioned in 'God Rest Bon Scott.' Lord knows Dean couldn't take this sort of stress during the Apocalypse. Sam, Dean and Cas all survived (I'll leave the how up to your imaginations for now), and Cas is allowed to stay with the boys indefinitely. Not that I don't prefer the show's ending, cos it was brilliant, if not sad, but I like my happy little world just as much.

Anxiously, Dean rapped his fingers on the dashboard. Keys jingled in the ignition, but the only other sound in the car was the inconsistent fumbling of the pre-driving seat and mirror check that Dean had insisted on. It usually wasn't necessary, especially for people who drove the same car frequently, but it was really just for his peace of mind now. After all, he hardly liked it when Sam drove his car, and the kid had known how to drive for almost fifteen years, ten of those legally. If Castiel was going to drive his car, they were going to go through every barely necessary safety measure before they hit the road.

Another five minutes of mirror perfecting passed, with Dean growing more impatient by the moment. Sure, it was great that the angel was being cautious, especially with his baby, but the anxiousness was creeping up on him, growing like a hot, squirming wad of worms in his stomach.

"They're fine," he snapped, sun beating down on him through the open passenger window and adding to his overall discomfort. Cas turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised.

"You sure? I know this makes you nervous." This rang so true, Dean suspected the angel had read his mind, but at the same moment, he realized how tight his grip was on the inner door handle to his right, how intently he'd been staring at the other man, how erratic his fingers drumming on the dashboard must have sounded. All dead giveaways.

Until now, the whole post-Apocalyptic heyday had been their primary focus—hunting down the straggling demons, cleaning up the towns where the biggest fights had taken place, trying to bring anything resembling order to the chaos that had almost destroyed the planet. It had taken nearly a month, with hunts and side trips cropping up every so often, but the world was nearly back to its pre-Apocalypse state, save for the slightly larger hunting population that had cropped up to combat the End of Days and the occasional rogue demon.

Even with the few fixes that still needed attention, things were almost... Relaxing. They could get back to the basics, just hunting regular monsters without the survival of humanity resting on their shoulders. All that remained was the usual strain of the hunting life, and even that didn't seem so bad anymore. They spent most of their off time at Bobby's, recuperating and researching, making sure that nothing like this ever happened again, at least in their lifetimes. They could mostly sit back and enjoy a temporarily quiet life; it seemed that even the monsters of the world were happy to just relax for a while. There were a few hunts, but the boys could handle those, no problem.

Somehow, this calm must not have felt right in some dark corner of Dean's mind, because he'd felt the need to continue Castiel's education by teaching him how to drive. After all, he was staying on Earth indefinitely, becoming the unofficial third Winchester (alive, that was); he'd need to know more than just how to shoot and cook if he was going to be entirely useful. Any hunter worth their rock salt had to make a quick getaway sometimes.

Like a few lessons in the past, the eldest Winchester was beginning to doubt this decision.

"Just get on with it," he ordered, releasing his death grip on the door handle despite continuing reservations about how intelligent this idea really was. With one last, lingering look, Cas finally moved on from the preliminary checks and got down to business. His pushed the keys into the ignition, turning the engine over with nothing resembling the hesitance he'd displayed when these driving lessons first began. The car's familiar roar filled the air, and Dean relaxed at the sound, if only slightly.

With only a momentary glance to his passenger, Cas pressed down on the brake and shifted into drive. Dean's intense gaze beat down on the angel, taking stock of just how smoothly the car slowly began to roll forward. So far, so good. The elder Winchester was only vaguely surprised. Cas may have been oblivious when it came to most social things, but he learned quickly when he was paying attention. It almost made Dean wonder what the angel had been watching for two thousand years to know so little about human behavior.

The Impala meandered to the edge of the junkyard, hesitating at the entrance as Castiel glanced both ways down the empty two lane road.

"Which way should we go?" he asked, eyes alternating between watching each way but never leaving the road. Dean eyed both options.

"Just go right," he answered. Obediently, like the good angel he had once been, he flicked on the right turn signal and moved onto the long South Dakota road. Even as they went farther on, they barely moved above idling speed, no more than five or six miles an hour and apparently not anxious to go any faster. The pace nearly killed Dean. He'd spent his life pushing the limits of his car and the law just trying to make it across the country in the least amount of time; this snail's pace seemed impossibly slow to him. "Jesus, Cas, you're not eighty. You can go a little faster."

"I'm much older than eighty, Dean," the angel replied, the hint of a smile betraying the fact that he knew exactly what Dean meant. Seeing that faint grin made the hunter smile, too.

"Yeah, whatever, smartass," he grumbled, but his words weren't anything more than playful jostling. "Just quit driving like an old lady." With a lingering grin, the angel put on the gas. Casually, the car slipped into the next gear as they sped up, making Dean feel a little more comfortable as they world began to blur together.

The roads around Bobby's house were long and usually pretty empty, and today was no different. The elder Winchester supposed it was part of their continuing good luck—ever since their near run-in with the End of Days, things had been going stunningly well, especially for their usually shit-filled lives. Dean had expected something to go wrong, and while he was still sure things would go to pot again eventually, he wasn't going to question things while they were still good.

Right now, he was glad that Cas' first time on real roads was going so well. Dean showed him the ropes on the junkyard paths, with no interference from other cars, and only basic explanations of street signs. The guy still had a lot of experience learning to do, on the road and in life, but when it came to technical skills, he actually picked them up fairly quickly. Unless he was being stubborn, of course.

They approached a stop sign; braking gently, the angel came to a full stop. Dean himself would've just California rolled through the stop, but he wasn't about to completely corrupt the guy, at least when it came to driving. Both men glanced around, but unsurprisingly, there were no other cars, so the driver looked to his passenger.

"Which way?" he asked. Still more familiar with teleportation and flying than linear travel, he hadn't quite picked up the layout of the roads around even the most familiar of places. Apparently, he couldn't just pick up paths from being a passenger. Hopefully that would change now that he was actually driving, otherwise they were going to have a problem. A getaway driver wasn't very handy if he had no idea where he was going.

"You can go either way, as long as we end up back at Bobby's eventually," the hunter replied. When the driver glanced around again, brow furrowed as he scrutinized each option, Dean shrugged. "Dude, don't you have some sort of Heavenly GPS in there with your brand new mojo? Just lojack Bobby's house until you can get a feel for the roads."

Cas gave him the usual raised eyebrow, still unfamiliar with some of the jargon the hunter used, but turned left anyway. Dean was well-acquainted with the south-bound road; the hum of the engine and the fields rolling by instantly put him in a state of calm that had nearly become normal. Nearly. They still fought monsters, after all.

The angel seemed to be more at ease with driving than he'd been with most human things he'd done over the last few years; Sam would probably comment that it was all their emerging similarities that made Cas such a natural driver. Dean would've told Sam to shut up, but the kid wasn't here now, so it didn't matter. Right now, he was enjoying the cool breeze whipping in through the passenger window, glancing between the scenery zipping by outside and the angel at the wheel. It was almost funny, with that song about God taking the -

Dean was violently jarred to full awareness by the sudden blaring of not one, but two horns. The Impala veering drastically to the right, barely avoiding the bright blue vehicle careening through the intersection. The black car came to a full stop halfway onto the shoulder, with the rear end of the classic sticking out into the road. Swearing profusely, Dean was out of the car like a shot, running behind the fleeing blue car. Cas was right behind him, leaving the Impala parked askew and murmuring a few of his own choice swears, both in English and Enochian.

"I had the right of way," the angel insisted as the offending vehicle disappeared into the distance. He gestured to the stop sign behind him, then to the total lack of one on their side of the road. "What the hell was his problem?"

"He's friggin' crazy, that's what," Dean shouted angrily, running a hand through his hair as he turned to face his friend. The surging fervor was evident in his eyes, but the rest of his face only revealed a dismayed frown. He eyed his car protectively, searching out any damage. "Nearly could've destroyed my baby."

"And killed us," Cas added, with all the reverence for death a thrice-dead immortal angel could muster. "Again."

"Yeah, that too," the hunter replied distractedly, turning back to where the offending blue car had vanished. Suddenly filled with wrath again, if the way his shoulders tensed was any indication, Dean yelled, "Doesn't anyone have respect for road etiquette anymore?" He released a constricted sigh and was back to looking at Castiel, hands behind his head. A lopsided smile fell across his lips, some of his stress melting away with another glance to the Impala. "Still, nice driving, dude. You were like an action star, steering us out of the way like that."

"Thanks," the angel said simply, matching Dean's smile with one of his own. The elder Winchester eventually started back to the car, more relaxed now. Cas leaned on the roof until Dean made it back, soaking up the radiant warmth of the car and the quiet crunch of grass and gravel under his friend's boots. Human life was peaceful now, at least most of the time. He could enjoy a few seconds of it, at least.

Back at the car, Dean leaned similarly on the roof—the inner Sam-voice that he hated to admit existed laughed once again at how alike they were—and closed his eyes to the sunlight, allowing the last of the stress of their brush with idiocy to slip away. After a shared moment of peace, he opened his eyes again to grin lopsidedly at Cas.

"Another road lesson? Everyone else out there is an idiot who's trying to kill you." One of the angel's eyebrows arched interestedly, smile quirking his lips.

"I'll keep that in mind."


	9. Stargazing and Music

A/N: This is another idea that wasn't part of my original burst of madness. Still, music is a big part of Dean's life, and to me, Cas is sort of modeling his humanity after Dean, sooo... Sorry if it seems to ramble on (pun? I'm a terrible person). I guess this is more like two lessons in one. Two-fer! Bonus points for figuring out the song before it's stated outright. And sorry if it seems a bit like a songfic in the middle/end-ish. That really wasn't my intent.

Also, if you're keeping up with my Supernatural fic timeline, this takes place before the end of the Apocalypse. Therefore, before chapters 6, 8, 10 and 11, but after chapters 5 and 7. I realize this is unnecessarily complicated; maybe one day I'll find the time to sort everything out. Maybe.

* * *

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing," Castiel admitted, attempting to relax across the back seat of the Impala. From the driver's seat, Dean threw a quick glance back to the angel and popped a cassette into the tape deck.

"Just chill, dude," he replied, fingers brushing over the radio in obvious affection. The opening riffs of a song resounded through the car, nowhere near their full volume, but Dean didn't stay on that song long. Like the Impala was an extension of himself, he hit the fast-forward button without so much as a glance, eyes instead drifting out his wide-open window to the clear, starry sky.

Despite the full moon that illuminated the open field around them, the dash was half-dark, thanks to the form sprawled across the hood and windshield. Sam was laying out there, staring into the night sky with a beer dangling from one hand, not saying a thing. Cas knew he wasn't asleep, not from any angelic power, but from prior knowledge. He was watching the slowly spinning heavens, just like he did whenever they stopped like this. Dean was doing the same from the front seat, leaning back so his head rested on the space where the driver's side window generally resided. He stretched out fully, until his long legs poked out the opposite window and caught the moonlight.

In the time he'd spent with the Winchesters, Cas had come to realize that this was a common thing for them, this stargazing. When they were too tired to drive, or they'd hit a dead end on a hunt, or they were just too stressed by the weight of the world, they'd find the first empty, open place they could and just stop, staring into space and maybe catching a few hours of sleep if they were lucky. At first, it had seemed strange to the angel; after all, who could take a step back from the end of the world when everything really did rest on their shoulders? It seemed unfathomably irresponsible to him, at least until he'd been with them when they decided to stop.

A few minutes spent observing the brothers made him realize that if they didn't occasionally do this, they would inevitably fall apart. There was only so much a human being could take before they cracked, and these two already had some sort of superhuman strength of will. Whether they would admit it or not, they did have breaking points, and stops like these made sure they never quite got there, no matter how dangerously close to the precipice they always seemed to hang.

So, without much commotion, he'd fallen into this small ritual of theirs, usually draped across the hood like Sam now was. It was impossibly large, with room enough for three grown men to lay comfortably. It was a kind of tranquility he hadn't felt since before he'd been commanded to take a vessel. Somehow, these two had found the glimmer of true peace in an otherwise harsh life.

Of course, with the life these two had led, it was a wonder they were still functionally sane.

"Here we go," Dean murmured, apparently finding the song he was searching for. Cas focused back on reality, drawn from his reverie by Dean's quiet words but still watching the open sky. The opening sounds of a guitar filled the Impala's cabin, resonating softly in his chest. Under the guitar, there was a rhythmic drumming; Castiel knew it wasn't an actual drum, but he couldn't quite pick out what it was. It was strange, very unlike the praises he had heard sung to the Lord for eons, but the two instruments worked together just as beautifully as a choir of jubilant voices.

"What is this?" he asked, taking a lazy sip of his beer as the first lines of the song joined the instrumentals. (_"Leaves are falling all around."_) Dean chuckled lightly, tension from all the recent Apocalypse action temporarily fading from the air.

"The best thing you're ever going to listen to," he replied, fingers tapping absently on the seat. (_"Time I was on my way."_) "Sorry if it ruins everything you listen to afterward, but it's worth it, believe me."

(_"Thanks to you, I'm much obliged."_)

"I have heard a hundred thousand angels singing their most glorious praises to the Lord," Castiel rebutted quietly, already knowing it was pointless to argue. Choirs of angels and human bands were two different things entirely, and couldn't be held to the same standard. (_"For such a pleasant stay."_)

He did have to admit that this music was exceptional, though. Where he'd once though that human music, particularly the 'classic rock' Dean listened to, was baseless noise, he had slowly began to appreciate the raw feelings it evoked, both through sound and lyrics. (_"But now it's time for me to go."_) Slowly, he had found himself coming to enjoy it more and more; Dean had apparently picked up on this in the last few days and decided that if Cas was going to listen to human music, he was going to experience the best first.

"Angels got nothing on these guys," Dean shot back. (_"The autumn moon lights my way."_) "Whatever they've been singing to God, it can't even compare to this." He was right in a way, just not the way he'd intended. Angelic songs were composed of blind faith and adoration, whereas this human music was everything a human was: scared, angry, joyous, beautiful, arousing. It had all the variation that humankind was capable of, and in no way could he even begin to think of it in the same way.

"Yes, but what is it?" Cas repeated. (_"For now I smell the rain, and with it pain."_) He took a quick swig of his beer as his eyes drifted across the pattern of a now-familiar constellation—Cygnus, if he wasn't mistaken. Really, knowledge of the band's name, or at least the song title, wasn't necessary, but he felt like he should know, especially after Dean had deigned that this band came above all the rest. If he only knew one band, he needed to know this one. Something in him absolutely had to know, so Dean needed to quit unnecessarily avoiding the answer.

(_"And it's headed my way."_)

"A band that trumps every other awesome band out there," Dean replied in a vague but enthusiastic way. On the hood, Sam snorted, but the older Winchester only spared him a momentary glance. "These guys still rock the face of the earth after forty-two years and one of them kicking the bucket."

(_"Aw, sometimes I grow so tired."_)

"Dean..." Cas semi-growled, more than tired of Dean's inability to give him a straight answer.

(_"But I know I've got one thing I've got to do."_)

"It's Led Zeppelin," Sam shouted from outside, just as tired of the back and forth his brother was perpetuating. (_"I ramble on."_) Appreciatively, Cas nodded, also realizing that he should've known as much. Led Zeppelin was Dean's favorite band, after all. The elder hunter, though, was not quite as relieved; he sent a pout (which he would later deny ever being able to express) out the window at his brother.

"You ruined the surprise," he grouched, and punctuated his mood with a swift drink of his beer.

"It wasn't a surprise, it was just annoying," Sam shot back as he picked up a new bottle and cracked it open. Dean pouted for a second more before turning his attention back to the sky and his own bottle.

"Now that Sam has had his fill of being a killjoy for the night... Yeah, it is Zeppelin." His pout dissolved into a grin and he finished off his drink. "My favorite song. Or at least tied for first, alongside 'Travelling Riverside Blues.' It's 'Ramble On,' the best Zepp song you're ever going to hear."

Cas smiled at Dean's exuberance and, finally with an answer, let his eyes flutter shut, tuning out all of the outside noise, from the wind and the animals to the brothers' quiet drinking, breathing and shifting around. He focused on the lyrics and the way the song rose and fell. He could see why Dean liked it—the very music itself felt like it was moving on, ready to go at any moment, and the words only added to the transitional nature of the song.

As it ran through to the end, Cas found himself increasingly submerged in the music; it was jarring, then, when it came to an end and started into the next song on the cassette. Dean turned it down a little, and even though he remained lying down, Cas could feel the unspoken question hanging in the air.

"I enjoyed that," he stated plainly. This response earned a broad grin from the elder Winchester, and a sigh from the other. Dean's eyes snapped to Sam's back, grin turning cocky.

"You're just pissy because he likes good music and not your pansy-ass college boy crap," he retorted. Sam, unseen by either occupant of the car, rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, Dean." The older brother knew he was right by the way Sam brushed the subject away, but chose not to pursue it. This was a victory to be reveled in. He turned his attention back to Castiel.

"So you really liked it?" Cas nodded, and Dean seemed to translate volumes from this simple gesture. "Good. If you didn't like Zeppelin, there'd be some serious issues about your future on this team. Even Sammy likes it sometimes." The kid snorted, but Dean ignored him. "He just has a hard time admitting it. He mostly likes that emo, cry-your-heart-out stuff all the sensitive guys listen to. Doesn't help them to get laid, though. Not like getting the Led out does."

"I'm not looking to get laid," Cas replied. Sam chuckled. Dean just shrugged.

"You will one day, buddy, and this is the stuff that's going to get you de-virginized. We'll make a Winchester out of you eventually." With that, he twisted the volume dial up and relaxed fully into his door. Sensing the conversation was over, Cas followed suit, once again eying the stars.

The world was still ending, but for these few minutes in a small, empty field, there was no stress hanging in the air, no expectations. There was only the resounding sound of pure classic rock and the contemplative peace of two (possibly three, if Sam wasn't trying to be difficult anymore) men taking in a moment of happiness.

These were the moments that made him willing to choose humanity every time.


	10. Fishing

A/N: I can't quite remember how this one came to me. I just figured, if Cas is modeling parts of his humanity on Dean, this would come up eventually. For the record, this is post-Apocalypse, and I know only the bare minimum about fishing, so I apologize in advance for any errors. Feel free to correct me.

* * *

The morning breeze, warm and slightly damp, cast small ripples over the lake's surface. It ruffled Castiel's hair and jacket, and he squinted into the sunlight that barely peeked over the tall grasses around them. Dean paused next to the angel, eyes off in the distance for a second before moving past his friend. Cas watched the rising sun for a second longer before moving on as well. He followed Dean down to the dock that jutted into the lake, dropping the lawn chairs under his arm so they rested against one of the poles attached to the dock. They clattered loudly down, nearly making Dean jump and drawing an annoyed glare from the hunter.

"Dude, don't just drop things," he snapped. "You'll scare all the fish away." The angel held his hands up in silent surrender and apology, two fishing poles still clutched tightly in his right hand. Only when the other man returned his gaze to the lake a moment later did Cas gently lean the poles against the chairs. His eyes drifted to the placid lake as well, taking in the world as it only appeared during these early morning hours.

He hadn't pegged Dean as the early-riser type, not unless they were rushed out of their motel by a sudden attack or he had another night of insomnia (both of which happened with much less frequency now that the Apocalypse had come and gone). He knew that both Winchesters generally counted any sleep in excess of five hours as a decent night, but that was considering that hunts usually ran late into the night, and often through the morning. Sometimes, they got back just in time to save their stuff from being thrown out by a manager who needed the room for other guests.

Even when they didn't hunt late into the night, their separate nightmares had often kept them from getting a full, healthy night. The frequency of these nightmares had dropped to nearly zero since they'd re-caged Lucifer (which Cas silently thanked his Father for every night); both hunters had quickly and thankfully resumed getting more than four sleepless hours a night since then.

Still, ever since Castiel had known his human charge, he'd always harbored the idea that, given a decent window of opportunity and without all the stresses of the Apocalyptic hunting life, Dean would be a late sleeper. He was more of night person, by the angel's reckoning, and those types never dealt well with being up before dawn.

For the most part, he'd been correct in his assumption. Dean did like to sleep in when they got in late from a hunt, catching eight or nine hours of like-a-log sleep in the room or the Impala, depending on the motel's checkout time. After nights when they didn't hunt and he could go to bed at a reasonable time (before or around midnight), he was usually up on his own by seven or eight, still not so early that Cas would define it as being an early riser.

(Sam, of course, was definitely not a morning person. He claimed it was just a predisposition most people had. Dean alternated between blaming it on his college days and the amount of energy it must take to lug around his gargantuan body. Excluding movies and porn, one of Dean's favorite forms of entertainment involved waking Sam up in a variety of inventive ways. Dean claimed it was hilarious; Sam just said it was 'typical dumbass big brother shit.')

So Cas had mostly been correct. Although Dean wasn't exactly a late night person like many people assumed he was, he didn't mind sleeping in late if it meant getting enough hours under his belt to properly do his job. Not that he was a true morning person, either–he was never up before seven unless they were just getting back from a hunt.

He supposed that days like today were the exceptions that proved the rule. For many years, he'd known that Dean had an affinity for fishing, from the first and only time John had taken him, and just him, out to a lake, to his peaceful dreams that Cas often slipped into. Well, the ones that didn't involve strippers. Dean's interest in fishing had always been a fact to Castiel, but he'd never quite comprehended the extent of this interest until recently.

Dean had told him about the nearby lake last night, about his plan to go out there and fish in the morning, but it had never quite landed for Castiel that this was another one of Dean's lessons. That fact had only really hit home when Dean roused him from his sleep (a habit he'd picked up just before the end of the Apocalypse) and told him to be ready to go in ten minutes.

He did as he was told, doing his entire morning ritual in less than ten minutes (despite being able to will himself clean and in a new outfit in mere seconds–he liked doing things the human way). Dean was waiting for him outside, sky still dark but just barely glinting with pre-dawn glow. They both climbed into the Impala wordlessly, leaving Sam to sleep in and heading here, to the lake where they now stood.

Cas didn't bother asking where Dean had gotten the fishing supplies; he quit questioning the exact capacity of Dean's prized vehicle a long time ago. He just helped unfold the chairs on the end of the dock, handing a pole to the other man as they went to sit down. Dean accepted it without a word and propped it between his legs; Cas got comfortable in his own chair, the early morning sounds intermingling with the sound of Dean rustling through their tackle box.

Absently, the angel fiddled with his fishing pole and listened to Dean rustle, eyes drifting leisurely to a flock of birds that emerged from the tall grass on the far side of the lake. They disappeared into the fading morning haze at the same moment that Dean nudged his shoulder. Cas glanced back over to his friend, who held up a small plastic orb, half red and half white. He tilted his head, brow furrowed as he tried to ascertain what this strange object was for.

Dean saw this expression and smiled, a private smile that he tried to hide, but Cas caught it anyway. Something about the angel's confusion continued to amuse the hunter, and while Cas still didn't quite understand what it was about his unfamiliarity with many human objects and ideas that gave Dean so much pleasure, he'd gotten used to it and even smiled back. It was just nice to see the elder Winchester so happy, after all the impending doom of the Apocalypse.

"It's a bobber," Dean explained, pushing the ball toward Cas again. This time, the angel took it and turned it over in his hand, inspecting it as the hunter went on. "You tie it to your line so you can tell when something's pulling on your hook. Other stuff too, but mostly that." Cas nodded as he took in this new information and watched Dean tie his own bobber onto his line. The angel mimicked the handle motion with precision, his own red and white orb dangling off the end of his line on a perfect knot.

Dean noticed this and gave Cas one of his patented grins, producing a hook between his fingers with the ease and sleight of hand of a lifetime con man.

"Do the same with the hook, man, a few inches down from your bobber." Cas took the shiny silver hook, careful to avoid to sharp tip; it reminded him a little too much of the silver daggers he and his brethren carried. Still, he tied it to very end of his line. Dean, hook already attached to his pole, went back to rifling through the tackle box. Cas took this brief moment to watch the subtle movements of lake before them. He could just barely make out a few fish swimming under the surface, probably one of the reasons why Dean had been so excited to go fishing here. It was nearly teeming with the small life forms.

"Here, take one," Dean said, drawing the angel's attention back to him. He was holding a small plastic tub near Cas' face, apparently full of dirt. Upon closer inspection, Cas realized the surface was moving; for a moment, he wondered if it was somehow possessed, but then a small, pinkish creature burst through the top, writhing momentarily in the open air before leaning to burrow a new hole next to it.

"Worms?" he asked hesitantly. Somehow, despite knowing pretty much every detail involved in fishing, at least when it came to technical terms, he'd forgotten just how revolting worms seemed up close.

"You can stare into the Gates of Hell and not even blink, and a tub of worms freaks you out?" the hunter asked amusedly, very much enjoying Cas' current discomfort. The angel just glanced up at him, eyes narrowed in an attempt to hide his disgust.

"That was something I've been trained for," he replied stonily. "This is not." Dean rolled his eyes but never pulled the tub away.

"Just take a worm and break it in half, then push it over the hook," the hunter ordered, pushing the tub closer to Cas' face. Reluctantly, the angel pulled loose a squirming invertebrate and stared at it as Dean put the tub back. Cas, nose wrinkled, cut it into two slippery pieces and speared one onto his dangling hook. Eyes on the angel, Dean smiled as he plucked the other half from his friend's hand and pushed it over his own hook.

"See, not that hard, dude," the Winchester concluded happily. "Now, just cast your line like so–" He released something on the handle, then angled the pole back and sharply cast it at the water. The line whizzed through the air, plopping into the water after a long second. Dean turned to smile at Cas again. "–and now you just let it sit until you feel a pull on your line. Go ahead, cast yours."

The angel did as he was told, mirroring the older Winchester's movements; his line thunked into the dock in front of him. Dean did his best to stifle a laugh, but his best wasn't all that great in this case. Cas frowned at him, reeling his line back in as he tried to look as stern as possible. Unfortunately, nearly two years on Earth had softened him, if only a little, and his expression was more of a pout than anything.

"You just released it too soon, man," Dean said as his chuckles died down. He reached over and grabbed the angel's arms, maneuvering them above his head. "Alright, now just swing and release about..." He moved Cas' arms to a lower position. "...here." The angel nodded, processing this manhandling, and moved his arms back into place. Again, he swung; this time, the line landed in the water with a perfect plunk.

"Nice job, Cas," the hunter encouraged. He held his own pole in one hand and turned back to the lake, eyes fluttering shut.

With all of Dean's instructions seemingly done, Castiel relaxed into his chair, pole held loosely between his hands. The rising sun slowly warmed the world around him, allowing him to drift into a peaceful sort of meditation. His eyes drifted around the lake, landing on Dean, who was in a similar state next to him.

Everything seemed to slow to a crawl around them. Animals still moved, still made their morning sounds, but it was muffled, like he was hearing it through a thin fog. If you asked him honestly, Cas didn't really mind it. All the pressing stresses and niggling thoughts from the previous days dropped away from his consciousness entirely, replaced by the pleasant buzz of nothingness.

Even the post-Apocalyptic hunting life wasn't ideal, and while it wasn't nearly as bad now as it had been for a long time (according to Dean), Castiel still knew it took a toll on even the most iron-willed people. He'd heard for decades that humans needed an outlet of sorts so they could release their pent-up tension, but he'd never quite understood the use for it until now. Anxiety he didn't even realize he'd accumulated floated away as the minutes dragged on, replaced with a quiet sense of calm.

After the centuries of watching humans fish for food, just to sustain themselves, Cas had originally been unsure why Dean would be so enthusiastic about the activity. It wasn't like he and Sam couldn't scrounge together the money to feed themselves when meal times rolled around. Generally, they had more than enough snacks laying around.

But now, experiencing fishing for himself, Cas could see why one would want to do it without needing the fish for sustenance. He was more at peace now than he could remember feeling in a long time, since before the fourteenth century (when everything had really started turning for the worse). Letting out a long sigh of contentment, he settled further into his chair, drawing one open eye from the other man, who smiled sleepily.

"Now you've got it, man."


	11. Shotguns

A/N: Seriously, there is no telling how this avoided becoming slash. Don't get me wrong, I love Dean/Cas; this fic just isn't about that. That said, Lord knows we could use some less negative Dean and Cas interactions as of late. Or any Cas at all. And I apologize for the wait. The vast emptiness of slashiness in-show without Cas is hard to work through for me.

* * *

This was going to be kind of uncomfortable, Dean had known that much from the start. Castiel was smart, and picked up new skills pretty quickly, but it took a lot of hands-on instruction to get him on the right path, and that meant getting up close and personal with the angel.

Not that Cas would notice or care. The one lesson Dean had never been able to get across was the importance of personal space, and at this point he had serious doubts that Cas would ever learn. Up against the other lessons in humanity and Winchester-ism, it wasn't all that important, but it really would've been nice to know an angel wasn't seconds away from invading his bubble at any point in time.

But that wasn't his main focus right now. Personal space issues or not, he knew Cas needed to know how to handle a gun properly, and that meant if Dean didn't focus, he was liable to get shot. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cas with his sawed-off, because he was pretty sure the whole warrior angel thing qualified him with all weapons to a certain extent, but there was only so much one guy could learn from watching other people do it.

"Here, just kind of tuck in against your shoulder," he said, maintaining a level of calm he'd usually reserved for a young Sammy or particularly dense-but-hot girls at the bar. Cas just glanced at him sidelong, eyebrows knitted tightly in discomfort, but at least there was no distrust in that look. The angel wasn't quite at ease with more modern weapons, evidenced by the fact that he slowly raised the gun like Dean had said, eyes suddenly laser-focused on the barrel.

"Like so?" he asked, swinging his whole body to his left to face Dean, who immediately flinched and ducked away as the barrel pointed squarely on his chest. Pursing his lips to hold back the string of curses that immediately came to mind, he pushed the barrel back down and leveled a stare at the angel.

"Dude, don't ever point a gun at someone you aren't about to snuff," he stated, straining not to yell at the guy. After all the times he'd died and come back, he wasn't so keen on testing his luck again, and looking down the barrel of his own sawed-off brought back too many memories of dying in a dingy motel room and an afterlife that sucked ass.

"My apologies," Cas said, and if Dean didn't know him so well, he would've thought the angel was being insincere, what with how wooden his words sounded. Only the barely perceptible nod of his head let Dean know that he was actually sorry, so the hunter just nodded back.

"Just avoid doing it again, man, unless you plan on putting me out of my misery for good." Castiel tilted his head, gun thankfully still pointed at the ground.

"It would be no matter, Dean," he stated, matter-of-fact as always. "Michael or Lucifer would only bring you back to life in order to fill your role in the Apocalypse." Dean frowned, mostly because the angel was right, but chose to move on rather than keep talking about this.

"Just get the shotgun up against your shoulder," he said, too tired to issue a straight command. "And don't aim it at me this time." Cas took another moment to stare at him before raising the butt of the gun to rest just to the side of his right shoulder.

"Like so." It was less of a question and more of an affirmation, and Dean nodded all the same.

"Yeah, like so." Now for the uncomfortable part. Dean came up behind Cas, looking over the slightly shorter man's shoulder, and reached around him to help him aim. He could feel the barest hint of warmth coming off the angel and damn if he wasn't too close to another man when he was having thoughts like that. He had to keep refocusing his attention to the job at hand, repositioning the stock on Cas' shoulder by a fraction of an inch so he wouldn't risk dislocation and pushing his left foot slightly forward for better balance.

The angel seemed entirely at peace with this development, so Dean took a step back, breathing a quiet sigh of relief to be alone in his personal space again.

"Now, just do like Bobby and Sam and I all told you," Dean instructed, only feeling like a bit of a dick for having to treat Castiel like a kid and repeat this. Dad had done the same to them, and while he wasn't a model parent, at least he and Sam could shoot with the best of them. The shorter man didn't seem to notice anyway, so he went on. "When you say 'pull,' I shoot out one of these clay disks. Keep an eye on it, leading just ahead of where it is. When you think you have it, click off the safety and pull the trigger. Got it?"

"It seems straightforward each time you explain it to me," Cas replied, with only a slight hint of exasperation in his voice. "We shall see if it's actually as simple."

"We'll see," Dean echoed. He moved over to the thrower Bobby had set up in his backyard and primed a clay pigeon, aimed low enough to mimic a land-based monster. His focus was trained on Cas, who nodded imperceptibly.

"Pull."

The bright orange disk soared across the South Dakota sky; only a few seconds passed before the deafening boom of the shotgun broke the natural quiet. Dean watched as a part of the spray clipped the pigeon, knocking it off trajectory and sending it careening to the ground. Cas lowered his gun, watching the clay target crash back to earth.

"You nicked it. Not bad for your first time," Dean said, loading another clay pigeon and smirking. "Man, if I had a nickel for every time I've said that..." The angel turned to look at him, head cocked somewhat to the side.

"I don't understand," he stated, confused. The hunter just crossed his arms, still smiling slightly.

"No, you wouldn't," Dean replied, more amused than anything. All this time and Cas was still oblivious to some things. "It's an innuendo." Cas' eyes lit up with understanding.

"A reference to sexual congress using implied understanding," he reiterated, nodding. "I see now what you mean." Dean smiled, mostly to himself.

"Give the man a medal, he can learn." Castiel, same as ever, missed the hints of sarcasm there, and instead looked to the sawed-off in his hands when Dean nodded at it. "Now load up another shell. We've got plenty more clay to go to town on, and your aim can do to suck a little less."


	12. Sleeping

A/N: Short but sweet. Sorry for the long delay! I blame a significant lack of Castiel on the show, and the overall depressing-ness of the last season. And also graduating from university.

* * *

"This is most unnecessary, Dean," Castiel stated, words thick like honey but still wholly matter-of-fact. "I'm not tired, nor do I require sleep." Dean snorted, eyes never leaving the pillow he was fluffing. It was a motel pillow, better days long past, but a little fluffing went a long way.

"Dude, you almost passed out face-first into your pie at dinner. If I don't set you up the right way now, you'll fall asleep at a weird angle in a lumpy-ass chair and never want to try sleeping again," he stated, tossing the pillow toward Cas. The angel caught it effortlessly and eyed it like it was a fluffy kitten with an extra head, totally enamored with it but still mildly confused.

"Sleeping is a human function that I do not require," the angel reiterated, though he swayed on his feet a little before snapping back to attention. "I will be fine without rest." Dean just raised an eyebrow and started turning down one of the beds.

"Seriously, dude? You're half-asleep as it is. We need you in top form if we wanna stop this whole End of Days business." He glanced up at the angel, whose eyes had involuntarily drifted shut. With a grin curling up the edges of his lips, he finished turning down the bed and went to nudge the guy. Cas' eyes immediately snapped open and met Dean's own pair, lit up with a knowing glint. "C'mon man, you're falling asleep standing. Don't be a stubborn dick."

"But where will you and Sam sleep?" he asked, though his resolve seemed weaker now. "There are only two beds."

"Sammy and I spent more than enough time sharing a bed as kids. The sasquatch can learn to share again for one night." He patted Cas on the shoulder, pushing him gently toward the bed. It was a motel bed, cheap but soft, weathered by decades of use, yet not the worst bed they'd ever spent a night on. Thankfully, Cas took this nudge with only a moment of resistance; he sat down on the edge of the mattress, still clutching his pillow. Dean just nodded approvingly and added, "There we go, just lay on down."

"I've witnessed a great many humans doing this," the angel replied wearily, either from exhaustion or having his will worn down by classic Winchester stubbornness. "You don't need to treat me like a child."

"Yeah yeah, okay all-seeing angel-man, just lay down." Dean ignored the stiff stinkeye he was getting from his angel friend, who nevertheless did as he was told. He positioned the pillow under his head and laid out flat on his back, arms straight at his sides. It looked about as comfortable as sleeping in a coffin. Which, as Dean knew from several unfortunate experiences, was not remotely comfortable, especially if it formerly belonged to the person who pushed you in. Freaking undead.

"Dude, that cannot be comfortable." Cas just bridled at the accusation.

"My comfort is of little importance," the angel replied, shifting awkwardly on the bed. Dean raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly in disbelief.

"Of little importance?" he repeated. "Really? You've been watching humans for thousands of years and you think being comfy doesn't matter?" Cas frowned, but said nothing. At least he was getting too tired to be obstinate anymore. The sooner Cas went to sleep, the sooner he could sleep, and he was really ready to sleep after the day they'd had. "Just relax, Cas. Try not to act like you're ready to be attacked at any moment."

If it was possible, Cas' frown deepened, but his effort to relax was visible. Hell, he even closed his eyes. Dean had to give the guy a little credit; he was trying. Well, now he was trying. Dean couldn't say much for earlier.

"Is this more to your liking?" Cas asked, significantly loosened up. His head lolled slightly to the side, voice becoming thicker as he spoke.

"Yeah, that's better," Dean replied with a smile. "Just give in to the sleep. Resistance is futile."

"I am not a Borg, Dean," the angel murmured sleepily. "I am neither robot nor alie..." Dean smiled, genuinely smiled, and not just because Cas had finally fallen asleep.

"Out of everything, you get the Star Trek reference?" Dean chuckled. "You really must be part of this family."


End file.
